The Kaid of Glawa’s Residence.
been my desire to see this celebrated stronghold of the Atlas, which evokes such expressions of astonishment from the natives who pass it; but even my ideas—formed on local descriptions—underrated what I saw, for not only is the building of enormous extent, but is constructed of large blocks of well-squared stone, which give the place at once an appearance of great strength, and render it unlike any other kasba or palace I have seen in Morocco. The castle consists of a group of centre buildings of great height, and not unlike the Tower of London in form, while around it cluster a number of castles and dwellings of every shape and size, but all big, the whole being surrounded by high walls, guarded with towers. Unfortunately I obtained no measurements of the building or its great courtyard within, for though we camped outside I ventured to enter its precincts, for its courts are common to all who care to do so.
Evening was fast approaching, and already the sun was hidden behind the mountains that shut in the valley on the west, and a bitter cold wind blew over the little plain of Teluet. Nothing more dreary or majestic could be conceived than the great castle, frowning with its towers and buttresses, seen against a background of torn mountain-peaks and snow.
What an awful spot to live in! for the Kaid’s house and the surrounding villages are snowed up in winter, and in summer the heat in the little valley, encircled as it is on all sides by high mountains, is said to be intense.
The Kaid himself was absent, but we were entertained by his khalifa, or deputy, who came to the tents with a little retinue of men and drank tea with us. Hardy fellows they seemed, these Berber mountaineers, with their tall thin figures and handsome weather-beaten features, and good-natured enough too, one and all ready to laugh when we abused their climate and their mountains. They seemed to feel the cold but little, if at all, and scarcely wore an atom more of clothing than in summer-time, and even then it is scanty enough.
The kasba is said to contain some marvellously good Moorish work, one chamber of the Kaid’s, we were told, being particularly beautifully decorated, but owing to his absence we saw none of this.
The night was a stormy one, the wind howled and roared down the valley, and though we were a little sheltered by the kasba walls, it found its way in bitter gusts into the tent. At sunset it was freezing hard, and this low temperature, with almost a hurricane as well, at an altitude of only a few feet under 7000 above the level of the sea, was no joke. But we kept our spirits up. Only a slight descent to make, and a stiff climb of 2000 feet, and we would reach the summit of the pass, to descend to civilisation and warmth.
By daylight we were well on our way, and the sun had not risen very high in the sky when Kaid Maclean and I had clambered to the top of the mountains. Contrary to all expectation, it was quite warm, for the wind had died away, and the bright sun and our exercise had thawed our bones. Far below us we could see our caravan toiling up, the men shouting to the mules to urge them on the difficult path.
I lay down near the same rock as I had rested under on my journey two months before; and as I looked upon the desolate scene of range after range of barren mountain, that had stretched out before me unknown and unexplored, and over and through which I had now threaded my way, and returned safely, I confess I felt some elation at my success, but no regret at leaving these inhospitable regions. Yet I feasted my eyes on the grand surroundings, for it was my last look of the wild country that lies south of the Atlas.
Our mules caught us up, and in a minute—merely half-a-dozen steps—we began to descend, and the view was hid. Far more cheering, however, was that before us; for, although rugged and barren and snow-scattered in our more immediate neighbourhood, beyond lay the richly wooded valley of Zarkten, and far away in the distance—a peep between the mountains—the open plains beyond.